Thursday, 11 October 2018

Black As Midnight On A Moonless Night

Monday, 8 October 2018

The universe is made of stories, not of atoms  (Muriel Rukeyser).

Sunday, 30 September 2018

She stood before him and surrendered herself to him and sky, forest, and brook all came toward him in new and resplendent colors, belonged to him, and spoke to him in his own language. And instead of merely winning a woman he embraced the entire world and every star in heaven glowed within him and sparkled with joy in his soul. He had loved and had found himself. But most people love to lose themselves (Hermann Hesse, Demian). 

Friday, 28 September 2018

Saturday, 22 September 2018

“...she seemed to know more of life than is known to the wisest of the wise. It might be the highest wisdom or the merest artlessness. It is certain in any case that life is quite disarmed by the gift to live so entirely in the present, to treasure with such eager care every flower by the wayside and the light that plays on every passing moment.” 

Hermann Hesse, Steppenwolf

Tuesday, 18 September 2018

You’ve been walking in circles, searching. Don’t drink by the water’s edge. Throw yourself in. Become the water. Only then will your thirst end.

Monday, 27 August 2018

Friday, 24 August 2018

Our first fear is abandonment; our last, too. We all leave home to find home,  at the risk of being forever lost (Philip Hoare).

Thursday, 23 August 2018

The path was narrow and my cloth kept catching, the moss so spongy I couldn't move my feet. So I stopped under this red cinnamon tree. I guess I'll lay my head on a cloud and sleep (Han-Shan).

Monday, 20 August 2018

It seems to me that as long as we are humans, we will search for FREEDOM in every means available to us. I've looked around a fair bit, and Zen and surfing still seem pretty damn good ("Saltwater Buddha", Jaimal Yogis).

Thursday, 16 August 2018

Wednesday, 15 August 2018

A person of the Way fundamentally does not dwell anywhere. The white clouds are fascinated with the green mountain's foundation. The bright moon cherishes being carried along with the flowing water. The clouds part and the mountains appear (Hongzhi).

Thursday, 5 July 2018

Somebody's Baby...

Saturday, 23 June 2018

Ibiza Vibes - check my new pictures here: 

Tuesday, 12 June 2018

Monday, 11 June 2018

Bridges that guide us

On the bridge, remaining the same, only made different by the sunlight or the dapping effect of the clouds, looking like it was dreamed into existence rather than constructed, soulless but solid and safe, trains sweep past each other, providences fly tired and divergent. 

You've met eyes of someone you liked but then looked away to not meet them again. 

I am thinking of conversations we had, which are life, craft, zen, books, destinies, causes and all the discrepancies that prevent one from breathing into other's chest, which seems to be accessible only in parallel worlds. I read books and people, bridges on the background, walk miles, U2 is in my headphones, erasing ballerinas on the asphalt,  drinking coffee in liters. You know, I walked this city through and through, found a favorite hidden vineyard in Pimlico, learned to accept people as they seem and any forthcoming circumstances. A couple of months ago it credulously seemed to me that I was not afraid of anything. I even expressed it aloud to you and immediately bit my tongue. Today I'm rather concerned about not causing affliction or hurt to others. I learned to speak and write, it seemed somewhat to save me from loneliness. Only indirectly though. It opened the gate of opportunity, taking small steps towards leniency. You as nobody know how demanding it is to merge with me, not every playfellow of mine has enough longanimity and vitality. The wind in the street, almost rocking me back on my heels, graffitis, June has not yet been spent, tenderness overboarding, but it is not intended for anyone. Useless tenderness of mine. Mayakovsky's poems come to mind. Old friends are farther away, but in the psyche they are part of my kindred, and in here - people with all our human dramas. It remains only to puzzle. How good and keen it is to feel. And it is healthy to not always get everything you want, but sometimes to get what you really need. Walked my miles! Digested the day I lived. 

"I suddenly smeared the weekday map splashing paint from a glass; on a plate of aspic I revealed the ocean's slanted cheek. On the scales of a tin fish I read the summons of new lips. And you, could you perform a nocturne on a drainpipe flute?"

© Elin Vidoff

Sunday, 10 June 2018

I surf, Thefore I Am

The sun shone on our glossy boards, reflected from the clear floor of the coves, and the water in them flashed green like a glacial bottle in which an old pirate kept hidden pearls.

Siesta reigned on the coast, beginning exactly when the first-morning bird fell silent, and the beam became steep from gently sloping. The leaves were still, the clouds on the horizon were immovable in the piercingly blue sky. You wanted to surrender to this sizzling "non-movement" and live like a ray, without a visible effort sliding along trunks and lush leaves.

Only the butterflies fluttered with rapture into the swealter and the pinkish wax frangipani flowers melted smoothly in the heat. We were slightly tired, like these dazed flowers under the sun.

But the ocean moved, rolled its transparent layers to the cliffs, with fragments of corals and mixed with the sand of our tracks...

We dropped exchanges without meaning but with laughter, without emotion, though in their expectation. It was hot. It was empty inside. Inside it was clean as if all the anguish swept away all the corners there with a swoosh broom, and our own words boomed in our heads as strangers, having sunk in this emptiness, reflecting not anything and melting.

When the ocean is restless, a series of waves pass through it by vast distances. Each wave - its blue plane, under the pressure of the wind rising a powerful fold in the light of the day. It seems that they are all similar and have no faces, doing the same work, laying out the moist power of the ocean along sandy and rocky shores. And this is so for anyone who leisurely glances along wired waters, but the surfer knows that each of the waves has its own face.

Wave, big or small, is yours, and you're on it alone. This co-event and co-being with the world.

You face the greatness of the ocean, and in the intercourse with it the depth opens in you, there is a union with what you were torn from, this is the way back to yourself. In the face of the ocean, you are left alone, there are no one's backs behind which you can hide - everything that seemed to appear significant becomes ephemeral. You here the depth of silence and letting the ocean to open your soul, and it returns it to you careless and clean, as it was once in your childhood.

 Surfing is a way of fighting for one's own soul, a higher tension and the way of entering a certain border state, when all the bother remains abroad and you are confronted with the pure existence of your "I". Your brain starts slowing down, leaving a space for numerous sensations. Soul and mind converge at one point, feelings are sharpened to the limit, and you literally feel the pulsation of life. Your heart beats in one rhythm with the waves. It's like the birth of spring, the state of flight and inspiration when the daily duel between you and the encircling world disappears because at this point you gain unity and Freedom. Though lasting only for a moment, but for a few deep breaths it's not just air, but life itself pours into your lungs.

To be a surfer means to contain many things, to combine sets, just as surf combines light, air bubbles, water, shine and twilight. Knowing your goals - that's what surfing is. It is something that blocks future and the past, but most importantly it seizes the moment and makes present complete. 

We get closer to nature and tune to its biological rhythms, we have our own clocks, that depend on moon phases and swell chart.

Each wave changes something in you, flushes something unnecessary and frees up space for the salient... and when you fly along this green wall, time seizes for you, and there is not a single thought, which means you can easily hear the voice of Universe. Perhaps that's why you go there again and again, conquering fears with each next wave, as you clearly know: you won and became a little stronger, a little better, a little purer and more connected to Universe ... 

Early wake-ups, licking the wounds, ignoring bruises, believing in yourself, focusing on your goals, moving to new challenges, never stopping to learn and grow and never, ever giving up. Because you know, it's the only way to reach the stars. Life truly begins at the end of your comfort zone. 

© Elin Vidoff

Friday, 8 June 2018

Caffeine Nemesis

Seven in the morning. The rustling of the cars and boats, the Thames waking up.  Summer is one week old. Coffee maker alarm clock - like flirting with yourself. Wake up at dawn to a smell of freshly brewed cup - someone took care of you. Mmm. You took care of yourself. It's damn agreeable!  Bitterness and caffeine - yesterdays drug of choice. I sip and analyze, my favorite activity by far. A murky surface. The first notes of "Sympathy for the Devil" by Rolling Stones playing in your head. "I've been around for a long, long year. Stole many a man's soul and faith... tell me, baby, can you guess my name... what's puzzling you, is the nature of my game..."

Vivid dreams last night with unambiguous characters - protagonists from a distant past, in whom I happened to have recognized myself. Drinking coffee and thinking about how amiable it is for me presently to believe in reincarnation of a kind. We do not repeat in this life the experience of another person, our behavior reflects the repetition of different situations associated with others. There is no program or predetermination, it overflows with symbolism, metaphors or even hyperboles. We, as the authors of our choices, ourselves change the scenarios, switch the realities, choose actualities.

Do you like the first snow or dig into my thoughts? Do you like overdrive or drive distortion, the smell of burning matches or icy hot temples? When someone switches off your mind or books, books, books? Imagine, I have no idea what you love! Maybe this is an unexacting desire to fill a two-dimensional life with elucidations and lurid colors? 

Another frantic day, in many complementing contrast conversations. We are chemical elements, time is ticking and so we transfigure. Every cell of your body is completely renewed in 7 years, and it takes only 16 days to renew by 72%. After not seeing someone for seven years, you meet an entirely different organism. But personality? Something lives in us, this something develops, evolves, reorients. When you do not see a dear one for 7 years, they keep moving and changing all this time... Though keep living in your memory as you have known...

Mix-ups arise mainly from fantasies. If you did not have speculation, you would accept life as it is. But then you would not have a romantic love, because the romantic love is when you found your dream embodied in someone who was far from matching it. “Fantasy love is much better than reality love. Never doing it is very exciting. The most exciting attractions are between two opposites that never meet.”

Life in the style of hardcore. Sometimes you feel that you've been "hit by a train." Astonished and drown in an arduous alternating experience... Then we suddenly secretly hope that it will happen again... In substantial selfishness and incessantly denying banality. Time passes in the self-studies, and we realize that we are those "trains" for others too... You create this state around you, your energy, magnetism lead to consequences, to results that change what has been unchanged before you... 

Wondrous conversations. We talk about lost love and voyages, less about books, more about ideas. We build plans that we learn to implement immediately. If left for later, the expiration date will expire. We learn to build fences, year after year, all the better, traps, evaluations, probes. All this shunning from our vulnerability, apprehensions and previous disappointments. We are like hunters on our territory. Hunters after ourselves. We guard what is left in the soul, by a mix of habit and instinct, not being a function, an instrument, a spare part or a mechanism. But a unique substance consisting of the atoms of stars that exploded millions of years ago, and which somehow miraculously received the ability to recognize themselves. Joined by covalent bonds that force particles to hold together, when atoms of a molecule share galvanizing electrons.

And the coffee on the windowsill is cooling at the speed of light. 

© Elin Vidoff

Thursday, 7 June 2018

The child-like, gum-chewing naïveté, the glamour rooted in despair, the self-admiring carelessness, the perfected otherness, the wispiness, the shadowy, voyeuristic, vaguely sinister aura, the pale, soft-spoken magical presence, the skin and bones… (Andy Warhol)

Monday, 4 June 2018

I don’t know, there’s something about you. Say there’s an hourglass: the sand’s about to run out. Someone like you can always be counted on to turn the thing over (Haruki Murakami).